


the power to protect

by elinciacrimea



Series: a gentle sunlight [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Bad Future/Lucina's Timeline, Family, Gen, Healing, Mostly Fluff, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 01:01:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20751722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elinciacrimea/pseuds/elinciacrimea
Summary: Brady learns a few lessons about strength.Inspired by day two of Lissabelle Week, "heal."





	the power to protect

**Author's Note:**

> Not a formal submission for Lissabelle week, since it's mostly gen, but it was inspired by that!
> 
> \- This is the first in a handful of short fics for this 'verse I've been working on lately! There are at least two more to come :)
> 
> \- I try and avoid having a strict timeline for my fics, because I uhhh am bad at them, but Brady is roughly eight years old here.

The blade catches Brady out of nowhere. The wind is knocked out of him, his ankle bending a way ankles are definitely not supposed to bend as he lands, absolutely gracelessly, in the dirt, wooden training sword spinning out of his sweaty hand and flying across the courtyard. Tears immediately well up in his eyes with the impact, but he forces them back, gasping for breath.

"Brady!" Lucina cries, and Brady hears her as if from the end of a long tunnel, his ears ringing. "I'm so, so sorry! I thought - I thought you would dodge that! Oh, I am so terribly - "

Her words only make Brady's eyes sting harder, and he doesn't look up at her. Instead, he stares at the grass, watching an ant crawl up a bent blade.

"Honored brother!" comes Owain's voice, sounding even further away. "Pray tell, have you left this mortal coil? Speak to me at once!"

"Shaddup," Brady grumbles into the grass, trying to keep his voice from catching.

"Ah, you yet live! Truly, the gods are merciful…"

Brady ignores him too, the speech even less comforting than Lucina's fussing. The grass crunches as someone crouches down beside him, and his heart sinks still further. A pep talk is the last thing he needs right now.

"Hey, buddy." A hand rests on his shoulder. "You all right?"

Brady doesn't answer his uncle. If he answers, he'll definitely cry.

"That was quite a tumble," Chrom continues. "But it's all right. Everyone makes mistakes."

Brady sniffles. His eyes are starting to run, despite his best efforts.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of. We all have to start somewhere."

"Shaddup," Brady mumbles again, unable to think of anything else to say. Besides, Chrom's lying. They both know that. Brady's been taking these lessons for years and he's _ still _ terrible. Lucina and even Owain can lay him flat in seconds, no matter what he does. And Chrom might claim otherwise, but there's no way his uncle was ever _ this _incompetent.

Chrom sighs as Brady pouts at the grass. "I'm still proud of you, Brady. You know why? Because you're strong."

"Why would ya think that?" Brady demands of the grass. "Did the definition of 'strong' change recently?"

"Because you never give up," says Chrom. "No matter how hard it gets, you always keep fighting - "

"Well, guess you're wrong about me, then, because I'm quittin'," Brady growls, sitting up straight and clambering to his feet, wincing as he puts weight on his injured ankle. "I'm just wasting your time."

"Brady - "

"I mean it. I'm just holding y'all back." Brady scrubs at his eyes. "Thanks for tryin' to teach me."

Chrom reaches for him. "There's no need to - "

"Brother!" Owain butts into Brady's vision, shoving in front of Chrom. "You cannot mean to tell me you are abandoning our exalted bloodline? Our divine gift for the sword? The power of heroes runs in our - "

"Runs in your veins, maybe," Brady bites out. "And Lucy's. Not in mine." 

Owain recoils like Brady burned him, and guilt makes Brady's tears come faster.

"But, Brady…" Lucina's eyes are wide and sad, and it hurts to look at her, so Brady doesn't. "We've always had lessons together…"

"And now without me, you two'll be able to move a lot faster. You're welcome." Brady turns away from them. "Now, I'm leavin'."

"I can't make you change your mind," says Chrom. "But you're always welcome back, you know."

"Yeah, yeah." Brady sniffs. "Sure."

"Have one of your mothers take a look at that ankle. It might be sprained."

Brady's already taken off across the courtyard, as fast as his ankle allows, and even though Chrom calls after him he doesn't follow. The tears are streaming down Brady's face now, and he gives up on trying to stop them as he runs down the hall, his own harsh words echoing in his mind. Stupid, stupid, _ stupid_. Why does he ruin _ everything? _

Mom's going to give him that look she gets, that hurt expression of genuine disappointment. And Ma - Brady doesn't even want to think about what his Ma's going to say. After all, giving up isn't the noble thing to do, or whatever. She's going to _ flip_.

Brady doesn't go to the infirmary - instead he crosses the castle to his and Owain's room, throwing himself facedown across his bed. He's wearing his boots on the sheets, which would make Ma gasp, but he doesn't care enough to take them off right now. For now, he just takes the moment alone to finally cry.

Brady messes _ everything _ up. He can barely lift a damn sword, and Lucina's doing all that fancy stuff, and Owain's not that far behind her despite being the youngest of them. Meanwhile, Brady's been working with Uncle Chrom for _ years _ and he's _ still _terrible. It's humiliating.

He'll never be a real soldier, or a hero of justice like the ones Owain's always blathering on about. Not like his moms, or Uncle Chrom, or the rest of his family. He'll never be strong enough to protect anyone. He'll just be some crybaby kid, kept off the front lines while everyone else goes off to fight.

Brady's not sure how long he lies there, wallowing in misery, before there's a soft knock at his door. Brady ignores it, and it comes again, sharper.

"Go 'way, Owain," Brady mumbles into the feather pillow.

"Not quite."

Brady groans. Figures she'd come running, either to scold him for running away, or trying to clean up his mess like she always does. Brady's not sure which is worse. "Fine, then go 'way, _ Ma_."

"Is that any way to talk to your mother?"

Brady doesn't answer.

"I just want to talk, Brady."

"Well, I don't wanna. I'm _ fine_. I'm just tired."

"Your uncle told me what happened."

_ Blabbermouth_. Brady scowls into the pillow.

"Well, I'm coming in," says Maribelle crisply, and the door handle clicks. Brady curses himself for not bothering to lock it.

Maribelle's footsteps across the carpet are light as ever, and the bed sinks slightly beside him as she seats herself. A hand brushes over his hair. "Tell me what happened."

"You said Uncle Chrom told ya."

"I want to hear it from you."

"What's there to say?" Brady rolls over onto his side, facing away from her and glaring at the wall. "Lucina kicked my butt. Again. She was barely even _ trying_."

"I hardly think - "

"Ask Uncle Chrom. It was an easy maneuver. I shoulda been able to block it, but I…" Fresh tears well up, and Brady swallows hard. "I couldn't."

"We all make mistakes." Maribelle strokes his back.

"All I _do_ is make mistakes. I never do anything right." Tears trickle over Brady's lips, filling his mouth with the sticky taste of salt. "I'm just a big mess-up."

"That's utter nonsense," says Maribelle firmly. "You've excelled in your violin lessons, and your chess skills are superb - "

"In stuff that actually matters, Ma!" Brady wipes his eyes. "I can't win the war with a violin!"

Maribelle's hand freezes on his back. When she speaks again, her voice is very measured, as if she's trying to keep herself calm. "Winning the war is not your duty. It's ours. You've no need to worry yourself with such things."

"Yeah, right," Brady snorts. "I'm not an idiot, Ma. I know the war's not ending any time soon. And I gotta do my part, so - so nobody gets hurt. And I'm not gonna be able to protect jack if I can't swing a weapon."

"Perhaps the sword simply isn't for you," says Maribelle. "Your mother would be happy to help you learn the axe. I can ask Frederick or Sully to teach you the basics of lancing, or perhaps we could hunt down an archery instructor - "

"I'm just not strong enough," Brady mumbles. "No matter what I do. No matter what weapon ya hand me - I'm bad with it."

"Darling - "

"Leave it, Ma."

Brady expects to be reprimanded for his sharp tone, but when Maribelle speaks again, her voice is gentle. "You know I'm proud of you. So is your mother, and your uncle."

"Y'all have to be proud of me. It's like, in the rules or something." Brady's cheeks burn as fresh tears roll down them. "'Sides, _ I'm _ not proud of me."

Maribelle sighs. They both stay there for a moment, the only sound in the room Brady's sniffling.

"Let me see that ankle," Maribelle says at last. "There's something I want to show you."

Brady's not sure what the second sentence means, but he rolls over onto his back and then sits up, looking up at his mother's face for the first time. The lines around her eyes are tight as she inspects his injury, and he feels a stab of guilt for speaking harshly to her.

Only a little one, though, because the injustice of it all still burns in his chest.

"It's only twisted," Maribelle says finally, reaching for the staff strapped to her belt.

"So you're gonna fix it up, then?"

"Yes, but not alone." Maribelle holds out the staff. "I wish for you to help me, Brady."

"Help you…?" Brady stares at her, baffled. "Did you forget how to use a staff or somethin'?"

"No, no." Maribelle shakes her head. "Reach out and place a hand on the staff. Tell me what you feel."

"Uh." Brady looks at her, squinting. "You feeling okay, Ma? Maybe I should get Mom…"

"Just touch the staff, Brady," Maribelle snaps.

"Okay, okay. Yeesh." Brady rests a hand on the smooth metal. It tingles, like it's humming under his fingertips. "Huh. It feels...kinda weird."

"Doesn't it? That's the white magic held within." Maribelle runs gloved fingertips along the staff. "They may not be weapons, but healing staves contain a great deal of power. Did you know, back during the days of the Hero-Kings, the people of Valm used to cast healing magic without using staves? They would use their own innate power, instead. It was a method that drew upon the lifeforce within their own selves, using it to cast spells and heal. Of course, healing with a staff is far safer, so as Valentia became Valm, her people started using the Archanean model of healing, even adapting their own unique models of staff - "

"Ma." Brady tries not to roll his eyes. "Where were you goin' with this?"

"Oh." Maribelle blinks. "My apologies, dear. Anyway, there's magic within the staff. You can sense it, can't you?"

"Uh." Brady shrugs. "I guess? There's somethin' in there, anyway."

"That's good," says Maribelle. "You see, staves and tomes require innate aptitude. Many people simply can't use them to their fullest potential. For example, I'm afraid your poor uncle would never be proficient with one, no matter what efforts he put forth."

Brady can't help a giggle at the idea of Chrom trying to use a staff. "He'd prob'ly snap it in half."

"As a matter of fact, I'm afraid he has. Lissa didn't mean 'toss that over' literally." Maribelle sighs and shakes her head. "Quite a mess. But regardless, if you can feel the magic in this staff...that means you have the potential to use it. All you must do is harness that potential."

"Huh." Brady squints. "So you're teaching me...to heal?"

"Well, I'm certainly trying to." Maribelle huffs. "Wherever did you get this stubborn streak?"

"Where d'ya think?"

"I am ignoring that comment," says Maribelle primly. "Now, shall I teach you to use a staff?"

"Uh…"

"Do you not want to?"

"I just…" Brady scratches the back of his neck. "I dunno. Don't - don't take this the wrong way or nothing, but...it feels like...the easy way out. Hidin' back as a healer."

"I understand," says Maribelle. "You know, when I was a little older than you, I felt the same way."

Brady stares at her. "Wha?"

"It's true." Maribelle nods. "You see, your uncle was in the process of starting his Shepherds right around then. Your mother, of course, wanted to join. It would be a few more years before her siblings deemed her old enough to participate, but she was determined. And because she was determined, well…" Maribelle's cheeks color slightly. "So was I."

"Puppy love, huh?"

"I suppose so." Maribelle laughs softly. "But I petitioned my father to enroll me in sword lessons posthaste."

"Sword lessons?"

"Precisely. Now, Lissa had decided to study the staff, because it was her elder sister's favored pastime, and Lissa aspired to model herself in Exalt Emmeryn's image. She found the work gratifying herself as she learned, but that was her initial motivation."

"What about you, Ma?"

"Well...I wanted to protect Lissa. That was my only goal. So I set about learning the sword. And…" Maribelle sighs. "I wouldn't say I was terrible. But the blade wasn't my strong suit. It did not take me long to realize that. And so instead I turned to the staff, and I found the work...quite rewarding. Inspiring. I realized…" Maribelle strokes her staff, apparently lost in thought. "Healing is a work that requires more than traditional strength. It requires a gentle heart, and dedication, and a true, noble spirit. All that I have done, fought, learned...nothing has mattered as much as the day I first eased another's pain with my staff."

"That sounds awful hokey, Ma."

"Allow me to finish. With this staff...I have saved more lives than I can count. And with it, I have found my resolve." Maribelle grips the staff more tightly. "The resolve to protect the people and the nation I love. A resolve I shall carry with me until my dying breath. And I know that you have that resolve within you, too, Brady. All you need is to find a way to use it. Some might say otherwise, but there is nothing easy about being a healer. You see the worst of people. You see their darkest moments, their deepest pain. And you...help them anyway. You save their lives. You become their shield and their will. No, you do not only fight for the future...you ensure that there is a future to fight for. And that is what it meas to heal."

Brady stares at her. "Huh."

"It requires a sort of compassion that many do not possess, to look into the darkness and keep shining bright. It is one that I have fought to find and keep."

"Mom's got it, too, hasn't she?"

"She has." Maribelle smiles. "Hers is, perhaps, the loveliest of all."

"Gag."

"You might think that there is no way to be strong, other than to swing a weapon." Maribelle looks him dead in the eye, her gaze as sharp as ever. "But there are other ways. And this staff is one of them. It won't be an easy path. But it is one that I would be happy to help you along. Would you care to walk it?"

"I…" Brady looks down at the staff. It shines innocently. "It does sound...kinda nice. Bein' able to help people like that."

"And, Brady." Maribelle's voice drops slightly as she cups his face in her hand. "I will think no less of you, no matter what path you choose. I'm your mother. I'll support you, regardless."

Brady's eyes sting again, but much to his relief, the tears don't brim over. "I...okay, Ma. I'll give it a shot. I just dunno if I'll be any good."

"That doesn't matter to me. All that matters is if you're willing to put forth the effort."

"I am."

"Very good." Maribelle sits up straighter. "Then we'll begin. Now, grip the staff, if you please, Brady, along with me. You can't use a staff to heal yourself, of course. I merely want you to hold it while I use it, and experience the sensation for yourself. All right?"

"Gotcha." Brady takes the staff, and Maribelle lowers it over his ankle.

"You see," says Maribelle as the gem at the staff's head begins to glow faintly, "within the staff is powerful healing magic. But our bodies contain magical energy as well - just what I described earlier. We use that energy within our bodies as a sort of conduit, to channel the staff's power...and through us, it flows free, and heals our comrade. Like...so."

Up until that point, Brady had only felt that faint tingling within the staff's long handle. But now, Brady feels the magic curl under his fingertips, warm and unmistakable as the staff glows brighter. Just as the glow reaches its peak, the ache in his ankle begins to subside along with it, and when the light dies, the pain is gone as well.

"There we are," says Maribelle, lowering the staff and returning it to her belt. "How did that feel?"

"I felt it," says Brady, staring down at his hands. "I really did, Ma!"

"Excellent," says Maribelle, smiling as she takes both his hands in hers. "Tomorrow, I'll bring you to the infirmary, and we'll see about getting you your own staff and beginning proper training. You'll be healing others in no time."

"I think that'll be nice," says Brady quietly. "Helpin' out, I mean."

"Of course, dear. I'm glad you're feeling better. Come here."

Brady rolls his eyes, but lets Maribelle hug him. As he looks over her shoulder, he sees the figure leaning against the doorway. "Mom?"

Maribelle twists around. "Lissa? Whatever are you doing there, darling?"

"Oh, nothing." Lissa's voice is singsong as she crosses the room. "Just thinking about how cute you two are."

"I ain't cute," Brady grumbles. Lissa pinches his cheek.

"Our Brady has taken an interest in the healing arts," says Maribelle, and the note of pride in her voice makes Brady's chest swell more than he's willing to admit.

"I heard! You'll do a great job, honey." Lissa's smile is vivid as she ruffles Brady's hair. "And I'll be happy to help you whenever you need, okay? Just say the word!"

"Yeah, thanks, Mom."

"But!" Lissa claps her hands together. "For now, I came to tell you two that dinner's ready. Plus, I think Lucina made you a special apology cake."

"What?" Brady scoffs. "She didn't hafta do that."

"Well, she felt bad." Lissa shrugs. "Don't worry. I checked, it's edible."

"Guess I better go, then," Brady mumbles. "Just so's all her effort didn't go to nothin'."

"That's my courteous boy," Lissa beams. Brady rolls his eyes, but he's smiling as he shuffles out of the room.

"He's a sensitive child," says Maribelle in a low voice as she gets to her feet.

"Kind of like his moms, huh?" Lissa says, rocking on her heels. "But it's sweet. He's so much like you."

"Hmm…" Maribelle's face softens. "I do worry. About him, and the world…"

"He'll be all right." Lissa takes Maribelle's hand. "After all, he's strong."

**Author's Note:**

> \- This draws some inspiration from Maribelle's Forging Bonds convo in Heroes, and that's where the title comes from!
> 
> \- Also, some random details: For the bad timeline, everyone's living in the Ylisstol castle. The castle obviously has enough rooms, but Brady has trouble sleeping alone, so he and Owain still share. Also, both boys have very advanced vocabularies for their age (Maribelle's fault.)
> 
> \- Thank you for reading!


End file.
